They are so special and I love them so -not that im aware, but it isnīt hard to guess- that i cant leave them even if i wanted to -and we all know i donīt.
They are the results of several years -from mi twelft to my twentythird- of calling myself a writer, devoting myself to writing and comparing myself to writers. Thats why I cant write, sometimes. I cant or, at least, is very hard for me to write anything without concerning, wich means "not having a great time", wich is a concept that my writing just cant bear right now.
Whenever I start to think of what iīm doing, my mind starts to shiver and the next thing I remember is two hours later, in front of the computer, with only two more delightfull words that I instantly hate, because they are the only ones left to blame for my precius dessapearing hours.
I thougth Mutation would help me with it, but, more likely, im not helping Mutation with it at all. So we can call it "even"?
Dont worry (but then, why would you?):Not every word is said (nor written) .